


Benji Driver

by fictionallemons



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Benji, Billionaire Ethan, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Benji, Bodyguard Romance, Cabins, Car Chases, Cars, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hospitals, IKEA, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overthinking, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Snipers, actual cinnamon rolls, engagement Present, forearms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionallemons/pseuds/fictionallemons
Summary: Ethan's a businessman about to testify against a crime boss, who's put a hit out on him. Benji's the bodyguard brought in to protect him. But Ethan's not sure how unassuming Benji can actually do the job. Until he sees him in action.





	1. Chapter 1

Ethan paces his office, loosening his tie and rolling up the cuffs of his five-hundred-dollar dress shirt. He knows the office is the same comfortable 72 degrees it's always kept at, but for some reason he feels like he's sweating.

"Is it hot in here?" he asks, pouring himself a glass of water out of his cut crystal decanter. Ilsa doesn't even glance at the thermostat before giving him a look.

"You're freaking out, Ethan. Everything is going to be fine." Ilsa's tone is half soothing, half exasperated.

"Fine? How is everything going to be fine? I have a _hit_ out on me, if you've forgotten. I'm testifying in forty-eight hours, which means I probably have less than that to live and you're telling me everything is going to be _fine_." Ethan tries to swallow some water, chokes.

"The entire city wants to see Nathan Smith prosecuted, Ethan. Every police officer, every city official—they're all invested in keeping you as safe as possible."

"Yeah, until one of them decides a payoff from Smith's crime syndicate is worth more than their integrity."

"Which is why I've brought in outside protection."

"Outside protection?"

"The best. Someone you can trust."

Ethan scoffs. "Forgive me if I don't seem very trusting right now. The only reason I still trust you is because I have so much dirt on you from business school I know you can't turn traitor."

"Ha ha," Ilsa says dryly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Ethan's mouth turns down. He stops pacing, goes to stand next to Ilsa. "I'm sorry. I'm just..scared." He all but whispered the last word. Ilsa smiles, a hint of fondness seeping into her usual business-like demeanor.

"I know you are. Which is why I spared no expense. He should be here any minute."

"Who?"

"Your bodyguard."

***

Benji whistles softly when he sees the digs of Hunt Holdings LTD. Everything is either leather or walnut and finished in chrome. Ethan Hunt isn't his first high-profile client, but he is his handsomest. Benji can't help but mentally whistle once he's shown into the inner sanctum of Ethan Hunt, owner and president of his eponymous company. Hunt is a couple of inches shorter than Benji, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in presence. He has a shock of medium-length black hair, interesting greenish brown eyes, and he fills out his Armani button-down and gray slacks like he does more than push papers for exercise. But Benji isn't here to play. He's here to work.

"Mr. Dunn? So good of you to fit us in on short notice." Ilsa Faust, the one he'd made the arrangements with earlier, shakes his hand quickly, then gestures to her boss. Though from what Benji has been able to uncover in his brief research time, she's a lot more than just an assistant. Rumor has it that Hunt can't tie his shoes without her, and sometimes mixes business with pleasure. Benji can see why. The slim woman looks strong and steely, but has feminine curves and chestnut hair that makes Benji wonder what it looks like when pulled out of its tight bun.

"Mr. Dunn, this is Ethan Hunt." Benji walks forward, shaking Ethan's hand. It's warm, and a little clammy, and Benji detects an elevated heart rate. Ethan Hunt is scared. Good. That means he'll probably do what Benji tells him, and that trait will help keep him alive.

"You're a bodyguard?" Ethan's voice doesn't disguise his disbelief.

Benji smiles. He knows he doesn't fit the stereotype of the macho alpha male with muscles for days, ready to whip a gun out at the slightest provocation.

"That's me. Benji Dunn. Personal security expert, we're called these days."

Ethan eyes him from head to foot, no doubt puzzled at Benji's attire—worn jeans, trainers, and a short sleeve button-down shirt in an unfortunate plaid.

"And you've done this before?" Ethan still sounds skeptical.

"What, kept people alive until they could testify against crime bosses? Yep," Benji says, popping the p.

Ethan raises his eyebrows. Benji grins. He enjoys poking fun at starched shirts. One of the perks of the job.

"Mr. Dunn comes with impeccable references," Ilsa says smoothly. "And he's going to be your shadow for the next two days."

Ethan smiles wanly. "If you say so."

Benji shrugs. "Your call, Mr. Hunt. You can show me the door if you like, and take your chances on the streets, or you can put up with me for a couple of measly days and maybe live to see your next birthday."

Ethan glares at him. Benji smiles again cheerfully. "I'm not that bad, once you get used to me."

"So what does having a shadow actually entail?"

Benji is pretty sure Hunt is talking to him, but Ilsa answers. "I've cleared your schedule until the trial, so you won't have to worry about meetings or shared meals. You can still work, just either in the office or at home. Mr. Dunn will take you to and from work, stay here when you're here, and stay at home when you're home. Other than that, he's recommended you not make any other plans or go anywhere else until the danger has passed."

"He's going to stay at my apartment?" Ethan frowns.

"It's a full service job," Benji says. Then he can't resist winking. Because Ethan, predictably, looks affronted, and Benji finds he's enjoying piquing this man too much.

"Yes, well, just remember, Ethan, once you've testified, there's nothing Smith can do." Ilsa puts her hand on Ethan's bare forearm and squeezes lightly. Benji shifts his gaze away. None of his business if Ms. Faust and Mr. Hunt are more than just coworkers.

Ethan's silent for a minute. "And you're up to the job, Mr. Dunn?"

"I've never lost a client," Benji says. "And I'm not about to start now."

"Then it seems I've got myself a shadow."

***

Ethan tries to concentrate on work. Without his usual endless stream of meetings, the rest of the day stretches out endlessly in front of him. Normally on a light work day he'd take off early, hit the gym, maybe call Will or Luther to grab some dinner or play some basketball. But he can't do that. There could be killers lurking anywhere—from the locker room at the gym to his favorite steakhouse, and it's not worth the risk.

The DA scheduled Ethan's court appearance that morning, and it hadn't taken long for the news to leak, and then for the news that a hit had been taken out on Ethan by Smith's cronies to follow. Ethan feels like a bug inside a glass jar—all eyes on him, some of them wanting to open the jar and crush him. Right now he feels safe in his office, but what happens when he steps out the door? Does he trust the scruffy Brit who's currently sitting casually in an office chair playing some sort of game on his phone with his life?

He examines Benji Dunn—the innocuous name suits him—surreptitiously while he pretends to read a quarterly report. He didn't know what to expect when Ilsa said she'd hired him a bodyguard, but it hadn't been someone who looked like they'd be more at home in a comic book store than a shooting range. Benji's mouth emits a snapping sound. He's chewing gum. Like a fourteen year old.

He supposes the man is fit beneath his casual clothes. He can see the tendons of Benji's forearms flex as he taps his phone screen; he looks like he works out. He has a neatly trimmed beard that Ethan suspects is an effort to look older than he is—he's definitely younger than Ethan, how much younger he can only guess. He doesn't appear to have any sort of weapon on him. He carries nothing, just a phone.

He stares until Benji says without preamble, "Go ahead."

"What?"

"Ask away. I can see you've got questions."

Ethan finds himself a tad embarrassed. He'd been caught, though how he doesn't know, since Benji hasn't looked up once in ten minutes. "Er—just wondering how you got into the business." It's not exactly what he'd been thinking, but it's close enough.

"Fair enough. I was a police officer first. But it didn't suit me. So I thought maybe MI-5, took one of those aptitude tests and the scorer told me that with my results I could make more money in the private sector. I took her advice, and here I am."

"Your results?"

"My skill set, so to speak," Benji says. He glances up and meets Ethan's gaze. Ethan's struck by the blue of Benji's eyes. They're cornflower blue. They had cornflowers on the farm he grew up on. He pushes away the random, sentimental thought and focuses on Benji's words. Why does he always sound like he's saying one thing and means something else?

"What skill set is that?" Ethan's curious. What is Benji good at, besides being irritating, irreverent, a terrible dresser, and oddly magnetic?

"You best hope you don't find out, mate. Better than the next two days go by without so much as a stubbed toe."

He's right, Ethan knows that intellectually. But he's still curious. He nods. Benji goes back to his game. Ethan goes back to the quarterly report, turning the pages without absorbing any of the contents, wondering what skills Benji Dunn has that might be of interest.

***

Ilsa pops her head in at six. "Go home, Ethan. I'll see you tomorrow."

Benji watches as Ethan rubs his eyes. The man looks tired. He recognizes the signs of nerves, and exhaustion. A decent meal will perk him up.

"You have everything you need?" Ilsa asks. This, directed at Benji. 

He nods. "All set."

"Well then, good night." She's gone in a swirl of efficiency.

Benji watches her leave, then turns to Ethan. "She's quite terrifying."

Ethan smiles slightly. "More terrifying than a hit man?"

"Loads more," Benji says, meaning it. "She's a heartbreaker, isn't she?"

"I…suppose," Ethan looks a little confused. For some reason that cheers Benji up.

"You and she aren't…" Benji trails off. No reason Ethan should answer, except that he's worn out and his defenses are shot.

But Ethan responds with a fervency that surprises Benji. "No! God no. We're just…old friends. And I couldn't run the place without her."

"That much I got," Benji agrees. He doesn't examine why he's happy that Ethan and Ilsa aren't a thing. But he's surprised when Ethan volunteers the next bit of information.

"I'm not seeing anyone actually."

Benji, for once, has no response, but then Ethan goes on, "So, you know, at least we don't have to deal with that right now."

Ah, right. It's always harder to do his job if there's a needy significant other in the picture. Ethan's correct. It's pertinent information. For the job. No other reason.

"Good," he says. "Let's go back to your place and make dinner. I'm Hank Marvin."

"Pardon?"

"Starving," Benji says quickly. Of course Ethan doesn't get Cockney rhyming slang.

"How exactly are we going to make dinner? I don't exactly keep a lot of food on hand, and getting takeout seems like a bad idea."

"All part of the service," Benji says briskly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Mr. Hunt, that I'm making you dinner. I already had groceries delivered, and believe me, they're safe." Or his business partner Jane will have to commit a few murders of her own.

Ethan's face goes adorably blank as he processes what Benji's just said. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it. "Well, if you're cooking me dinner, at least call me Ethan."

***

"You normally take a town car to work, right?" Benji asks as they take the stairs to the garage level of the building.

"Yeah, Ilsa usually calls one for me—"

"Not to worry. Full service, remember? I'm your ride home."

They've reached the garage and Ethan scans the handful of cars parked there. He's about to ask which one is Benji's but then he doesn't have to. Benji strides toward a boxy Japanese hatchback in an unfortunate shade of green. "Of course," he says under his breath. The car is hideous, and not particularly subtle.

As he draws closer he sees it's fairly clean, at least. Benji unlocks the car with a key that looks slightly more complicated that average. He hesitates by the passenger door.

"It's safe," Benji says. "Get in." The Brit climbs into the drivers seat, and reaches over to open the door for Ethan. Ethan sighs and gets in. It seems he's thrown in his lot with Benji, for better or worse.

"You know where you're going?"

"'Course," Benji says. "Buckle up."

Ethan does as he's told, and then jumps out of his skin when Benji turns the car on and opera starts blasting out of the stereo system at full volume.

"Sorry, my bad!" Benji yells over the din as he slowly dials the volume down. "I like it loud."

"Apparently," Ethan says, wishing he didn't seem like such a fuddy duddy. He's probably less than a decade older than Benji but he feels like a grown up to Benji's adolescent. 

Benji navigates carefully out of the garage and onto the city streets. He's a careful driver, keeping up with the flow of traffic, not standing out by going too slow or too fast, making every turn with confidence as if he knows exactly where he's going, though Ethan notices he takes a different route than the one the town car usually does to get to Ethan's apartment. It dawns on him that this is all part of the "service" that Benji keeps referring to. The nondescript car, the nondescript man. No one looking for Ethan Hunt would think to look for him in a green import being driven by an average, blond British guy. Is that Benji's deal? He flies under the radar and takes people by surprise? He supposes he'd done it, too, underestimating Benji as a bodyguard based on the way he looked, the way he acted.

"I get it now," he says, when Benji pulls into Ethan's apartment building garage and keys in a code to make the gate lift up. "You're the anti-bodyguard."

Benji grins. "Very good, Ethan."

Ethan's uncomfortably aware that he feels Benji's smile and the use of his name at the base of his gut, and that he's about to spend the night with this man in his apartment. He swallows. It doesn't matter what Benji's smile does to his gut—the way Benji looked at Ilsa, asked about their relationship, well, Benji wouldn't be the first man he'd been attracted to who preferred Ilsa over Ethan.

Benji parks and Ethan gets out. He notices that even though Benji doesn't look like he's on edge, he takes the lead, confidently moving toward the elevator, but checking out every corner as he does so. Ethan suddenly feels like Benji can handle anything that might come their way, even if he does seem more like a nerd than a jock. Ethan likes him. He trusts him. And he's suddenly rather looking forward to the next two days.

***

Everything's as Benji arranged it. His suitcase with what he needs for the next two days is in Ethan's guest room. The fridge and pantry are stocked with provisions for both of them. With any luck, this entire job will be easy. It's not the end of the world having someone as easy on the eyes as Ethan as his client, as long as he keeps his eyes mostly on the possible threats and not just on Ethan's pretty face.

"You…do whatever you do when you get home from work. I'll get dinner on," Benji says.

Ethan lifts an eyebrow, then shrugs. "I usually go to the gym after work, but I've got an exercise bike here, so maybe I'll hop on for a while. Unless you need some help?"

Benji wavers. It could be fun to have Ethan in the kitchen with him. But also dangerous. Benji needs to keep his game face on, no matter how much of a milk run this seems to be. He waves Ethan away. "Go use your stationary bicycle. Those muscles won't flex themselves."

Ethan huffs and Benji realizes it's the closest he's come to a laugh all day. Well, it might be hard to laugh if you had a hit out on you, Benji supposes. Still, he makes it a personal goal to get Ethan to laugh before the night is out.

He starts chopping onions, and time flies by while he's cooking. Cooking, like video games and opera, has a way of transporting Benji to a state of relaxed calm. He seems disengaged with anything outside of his immediate surroundings, but actually his senses are all so heightened they just do their thing on one level while he's making tacos on another level.

Therefore, he senses Ethan approaching before he hears his footsteps, before he sees him entering the kitchen in black shorts and a white t-shirt, which clings to him damply. He smells him, male sweat and the remnants of aftershave, over the smell of browning meat and chopped cilantro.

"Have a nice workout?" he asks.

"Yeah. Fine." Ethan seems distracted. "Just wondering if I have time to shower before dinner."

"Go ahead. We'll eat when you're done."

"Okay." Ethan pauses and Benji doesn't look at the way his workout clothes mold to every one of those damn muscles. "Smells good. I'm hungry."

"Then hurry up," Benji says good-naturedly. Ethan retreats quickly; he's getting pretty good at taking orders which makes Benji smile. 

He has to remind himself this isn't…personal. This is business. If he hadn't vetted the food and prepared it himself, Ethan would either starve or be poisoned before he got to the courtroom. If he hadn't installed temporary security cameras at nine points in the building that all feed to his phone, if he hadn't done bomb and bug sweeps of his apartment earlier that day, if he hadn't done his bloody _job_, then Ethan Hunt might not make it to see morning. And that's one outcome Benji won't abide. It doesn't matter that Ethan's…appealing. Benji will keep him alive because that's his job. Nothing less. Nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up.

Ethan refrains from taking thirds, even though Benji's tacos rival any he's had in L.A. or Mexico City. They're sitting in his dining room, sequestered from the outside world, but it feels kind of cozy, not suffocating. They're drinking beer and Ozomatli grooves on the sound system. He and Benji have talked about random topics all evening, staying away from anything too personal or too close to the threat on Ethan's life. But Ethan finally gives into the urge to voice something he'd been thinking all night. Benji's acting more like a friend (_date?_) than an employee, much less a bodyguard. Not that Ethan's complaining. It's better than having a hulking, silent presence keeping watch over him. But still—"This is strange. I'm not used to having someone cook for me. It's all very—"

"Domestic?" Benji sips his water.

"Unexpected."

"I should have thought that someone like you would have a chef on retainer, get home cooked meals at the snap of a finger."

"Someone like me?"

"You know, posh and important, with your home gym and your thousand-dollar suits."

Ethan laughs, and Benji looks oddly triumphant for a moment. "Posh? Me? I might have a big company in a big city, but I'm actually still a farm boy at heart."

Benji squints at him. "Farm boy? I'm trying to picture it."

"Up at dawn for milking, every day until I escaped to college." Ethan grins. "Dinner was delicious, by the way. I'm not much of a cook, myself."

"I imagine you're good at lots of other things, though. Such as milking a cow." Benji's tone is mild, but Ethan can't help analyzing it. Is Benji flirting with him? Does Ethan want him to be flirting with him?

Well, of course Ethan wants him to be flirting with him. He likes Benji, even if he's a little strange. And he likes the way he looks, even if Ethan's imagining giving him a makeover. He suddenly realizes he would pay an outrageous amount of money to see Benji dressed in Tom Ford. 

But the truth is, Benji isn't his friend, much less his date. Ethan's paying him to protect him. That makes things complicated. And makes flirting impossible. Ethan stands up from the table quickly, his good mood deflated. "I'm going to clean up."

"All right," Benji says easily. "I'll help."

"No, that's okay. You cooked—I'll clean." Ethan ignores the way that makes it sound like they're a team, and heads to the kitchen. 

Benji doesn't insist, rather, he perches himself on a bar stool while Ethan tidies away the dishes—he can do that much at least—and pulls out his ubiquitous phone.

"What are you playing on there?"

"Hmm? Playing?" Benji looks up. "Just checking the feeds."

"Checking the Feeds? Is that like Candy Crusher or whatever it's called?"

Benji looks at Ethan with an expression that almost seems fond. "No, Ethan, it's not like Candy Crush. I've got all my surveillance videos streaming to my phone. Just checking that everything's the way it's supposed to be."

Ethan feels monumentally dumb. Of course Benji's not playing. He's working. This is his job. "Right. Sorry."

"It's okay."

Ethan sweeps the dirty pans into the sink and runs some water into them. He'll leave them to soak. "And is everything the way it's supposed to be?"

"So far, so good."

"So we don't have to worry tonight?"

"Ethan, you don't have to worry tonight. You get some sleep. I'll be here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Ethan realizes he hasn't been that concerned about his safety since he got home. He supposes Benji's presence is rather comforting.

"Thank you for doing this," he says, turning around. Benji is no longer perched on the barstool, but right behind him, reaching for a water glass. Ethan hadn't heard him approaching. He hadn't expected him to be only a foot away. From this distance he can see the flecks in Benji's eyes, making them seem different colors depending on the light. They're not really cornflower blue at all. He doesn't know what color they are. He just thinks they're…interesting.

Benji's mouth parts, but he doesn't say anything. The thought, unbidden, comes into Ethan's head. _Kiss him._

But then Benji says, "You're welcome."

Ethan's voice is gravelly when he replies. "You're all set, then?"

Benji nods.

"I'm going to turn in, then. I usually wake up around six."

"I know."

Ethan half-smiles. Of course he knows. He gets the feeling that Benji knows everything about him. "Then, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Ethan. Sleep well."

Ethan doesn't think he'll ever get to sleep knowing Benji's just down the hall in the guest room. But finally the exhaustion of the day washes over him, and, secure in the knowledge that Benji's there, that Benji will protect him, he drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Benji's up before Ethan, checking in with Jane, who is his eyes and ears outside the fortress of Ethan's apartment.

J.C.: All clear on the route to the office. How was your night?

B.D.: Quiet as the dead. So to speak.

J.C. So is he as good looking in person as he is on the gossip sites?

B.D. Gossip sites? Really?

J.C. He's always got a girl, or a guy, hanging on his arm at events.

B.D. He told me he wasn't seeing anyone right now.

J.C. Relevant info. And you didn't answer the question.

B.D. I know.

J.C. Well, keep your head on straight. Rumor has it that Smith isn't taking any chances. Just because things look calm doesn't mean they won't try something.

B.D. Copy that. I'll let you know when we're moving.

Ethan shuffles into the kitchen in his pajamas, his hair a mess, his cheeks covered in stubble. He looks positively _edible_, and Benji is mad at himself for noticing. This is a job. Just because he's getting to like Ethan as a person has no bearing on the fact that Benji has to stay focused if he's going to keep Ethan alive.

"Coffee's ready," Benji says, unnecessarily, as Ethan has already zeroed in on the machine. "I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

Ethan holds up a hand. "Despite appearances, I am not a morning person. Give me half an hour."

"Take your time." Benji hides his smile as Ethan shuffles back the way he came, cradling a mug of coffee like it's as precious as diamonds. He needs to snap out of it.

***

Ethan drums his fingers on his thigh as Benji eases through traffic, calm and collected. They're on their way to the office, though Ethan's not quite sure why. He's not going to get much work done today. His courtroom appearance is set for tomorrow morning. Just twenty four more hours to get through and then what he has to say will be a matter of public record and Smith will have bigger things to worry about than Ethan Hunt.

They're almost at the office when the calm shatters. Benji says, "Get down, Ethan," and then two things happen at once. Something that sounds like an explosion can be heard to the right to the car, and Benji does something complicated with the clutch and the steering wheel and suddenly the little green hatchback is facing the opposite direction, threading its way through traffic, now going the _wrong way_.

"You're going against the traffic," Ethan cries, unable to not state the obvious.

"Yes, and I need you to get down. Make yourself as small a target as possible. They had an ambush set up there. At least four guns. They won't expect us to do this."

"That's because it's crazy!" Cars are honking and swerving and somehow Benji manages not to hit any of them. Ethan tries to do what Benji told him, to lean over and make himself small, but he also kind of wants to see what's going on. Basically what's going on is that Benji is a fucking _amazing_ driver. He taps the brakes, gas, and clutch like they're musical instruments and only he knows the rhythm. They speed their way down the avenue they just came up, then swing off into an alley.

"Damn," is the only thing Benji says when he realizes they have a tail.

"_Damn_," Ethan repeats, in awe as Benji stomps on the gas, causing the hatchback to leap forward and careen around curves at frankly impossible speeds.

He's too impressed by Benji's driving skills to be afraid, even when the rear windshield suddenly splinters.

"That was bulletproof glass. They must have armor-piercing rounds," Benji mutters as if to himself. Ethan has no idea what's going on, but his life is in Benji's hands and he feels completely confident that it's safe there.

"Hold on," Benji says. "This is going to be bumpy."

Ethan braces himself, and yes, it's bumpy, as they're suddenly more vertical than horizontal, going down a flight of stairs that shouldn't be wide enough for a car, but somehow are. Ethan's teeth feel like they're going to shake out of his mouth, and then they land back on solid, blessedly flat ground, and Benji does that thing with the stick and the engine revs and Ethan realizes he's getting an erection in the midst of a high-speed chase while bad guys are shooting at him. None of that matters. All that matters is the Benji can _drive_. And Ethan finds it incredibly hot.

It's not long before they've left the heart of the city behind them, but Benji only eases off the gas when minutes have gone by without anyone shooting at them.

He touches a button on the steering wheel and Ethan hears a buzzing and then a voice fills the car.

"Benji? Where are you?" The female voice sounds tough, and pissed, and the slightest bit worried.

"Heading out of town. Getting him somewhere safe."

"Good. I'll see what I can find out during clean up here."

"I want names and m.o.s. That was too close."

"On it. Over and out."

Benji eases off the accelerator even more, takes an exit onto a smaller freeway. Ethan leans back in his seat. The wind whips his hair due to the lack of a rear windshield. He lets out a laugh, long and hard.

Benji glances at him, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Have you cracked, Ethan? I know that was probably pretty scary."

"No, I'm okay. I'm just—wow. That was incredible driving." He laughs again. Okay, maybe it's the adrenaline. But his attraction to Benji started before he knew what a badass he was, and now that he knows what he can do with a stick, his crush has exploded into full-fledged lust.

Not that he can do anything about it. But there's something about being alive, with the wind on his face and Benji in the driver seat that makes him feel happier than he's felt in a long time.

"You're scaring me a bit, mate," Benji says. "You look a bit manic."

"I'm just—we could have died, but you were amazing, with the driving and the stairs and everything!"

Benji chuckles slightly. "Oh, I see what's going on here. Near death experiences can lead to feelings of euphoria. Totally normal."

"Normal? Normal for you, baby. I mean, maybe." Ethan wants to bite his tongue. He _ meant_ to say maybe, he really did. Benji doesn't say anything, just keeps driving.

"So what's the plan now," Ethan says, running his hands through his hair to try to flatten it down, "since going to the office is out?"

"New plan. We're going to go somewhere they'll never think to look for us. My business partner will get us a new set of wheels. And we'll wait it out."

"Where will they not think to look for us?"

Benji takes another exit. Ethan looks around, notices that they're deep in the suburbs. Shortly, he pulls into a parking lot next to a boxy blue and yellow building the size of a small town. "We're going to Ikea."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikea is tough on relationships.

"Let's clean up, then eat. Car chases always give me an appetite." Benji steers them through the parking lot, into the building, and up the escalator. It's ten A.M. on a weekday, but even so, a surprising amount of people are walking the aisles, armed with their paper tape measures and miniature pencils. Benji hopes Ethan likes meatballs.

"What is this place?" Ethan looks at the life-size dioramas of living rooms stretching out endlessly before them, transfixed.

"This is Sweden's greatest prank. Stylish furniture at unbelievable prices…they've taken over the world one studio apartment at a time, and all it costs is your soul and the time it takes to put together one of these monstrosities, i.e.: forever."

Ethan stops, puts his hands on his hips and just stares at Benji. Benji sighs. "Okay, I'm overstating things a bit. I may have spent too many nights on paper-thin Ikea mattresses in my twenties. Still, they have decent cinnamon buns."

"And you think we're safe here?"

"Safe as houses. We lost our tail miles back, we ditched the car, and now we just need to blend in and kill time until I hear from Jane about our status and new wheels."

"Okay. How do we blend in?"

Benji glances around at the other inhabitants of the store. There are a few groups of college kids, some moms towing small children who are too small for the Ball Room. But mostly, there are couples, wandering Ikea in search of furniture neither of them hates too much, in a race against the clock. Can they get what they need and escape Ikea without having a relationship meltdown? That is the question.

The devil on his shoulder wants to suggest they role play, just for fun. He kind of wants to know what Ethan would do if he told him in order to save his life, he'll need to act like he and Benji are a couple. On the other hand, besides being completely unprofessional (and possibly dangerous to Benji's sanity), they don't really need to act to be believable.

Though Ethan, in his dark blue dress pants, white button-down, tie, and gray jacket, looks more like an Ikea executive than a patron. Benji, wearing jeans, trainers, and a faded Joy Division t-shirt, looks more convincing as a thirty-something who still shops at Ikea.

"First stop—restroom." Benji leads them to the men's room which is empty. "Okay, take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?" Ethan looks vaguely pink.

"You're too dressy. Why do you think I dress like an overgrown teenager? The eye slides right by, embarrassed for me. You stick out, with your hair and your teeth and everything."

"My hair? My teeth?" Ethan looks extremely confused and Benji doesn't blame him. He's a bit stroppy—the longer he spends with Ethan the more gorgeous he finds the businessman, and he can't do anything about it.

Impatiently, he starts to tug at Ethan's jacket collar. His thumb accidentally swipes the back of Ethan's neck, his first skin-to-skin contact with him since their handshake the previous day. He pulls his hand away as if he'd been burned, which he might as well have, considering Ethan's skin feels as warm as the sun. Ethan seems off-kilter, too. He leaps about a yard back, averting his face as he removes his jacket himself, folding it neatly over his arm.

"Okay, take off your shirt." Benji has the juvenile urge to add _for science_ to the end of that sentence, but the atmosphere is too weird to add jokes to the mix. Instead, he walks over to Ethan and takes his jacket from him, careful not to actually touch the other man.

Ethan unravels the length of his silk tie in one elegant tug, then folds it and places it in his pocket. Benji swallows, his mouth dry. Next, Ethan unbuttons his crisp white shirt methodically, revealing a simple white v-neck undershirt beneath. Benji's thirst increases when Ethan finally slips the shirt off entirely. The undershirt is similar to what he was wearing last night for his workout, only more fitted, stretching tight over Ethan's pecs, molding to the curve of his biceps. Ethan hands the shirt over silently, and Benji clears his throat. 

"Right. Now, back on with the jacket." He holds it out to Ethan instead of helping him on with it, not trusting himself to get that close to Ethan without taking advantage of the situation. Ethan's hired him to protect him, not to swallow him whole, which is what Benji would like to do at the moment.

Ethan slips the jacket on over the undershirt, surveys himself in the mirror. "Huh. Are you sure I don't look kind of Miami Vice?"

Benji lets out a startled laugh at the reference. Ethan looks nothing like Don Johnson in 80s pastels. He still looks like a posh bastard, but now slightly more casual. "No, you look…" _hot_/_gorgeous_/_fuckable_…he can't finish he sentence without giving himself away. "…Let's get some coffee."

***

Ethan takes another bite of his cinnamon bun. The yeasty sweetness fills his mouth and he takes another bite before fully swallowing the first one. He might emit a small moan, but he can't be sure over the sound of chewing.

Benji has a funny expression on his face. He has one eyebrow raised in apparent skepticism, but his mouth appears to be struggling to control a smile. "You're really enjoying that cinnamon bun."

"I don't usually eat a lot of carbs," he says by way of explanation. He's always been a healthy eater, but lately he's been even more strict in his diet. Now that he remembers how good a combination wheat and sugar are, he's having trouble remembering why. With Benji sitting across from him in the Ikea cafeteria, consuming his own cinnamon bun, Ethan realizes maybe his self-denial has been less about his health and more about control. He can't control the fact that he's nearing forty and still single. He can't control the fact that he's the key witness against a very dangerous man. But he can control what he eat, so that's what he does.

Benji doesn't comment on the carbs thing. Ethan was half afraid he'd make fun of him. But he says, "Good thing we got a half-dozen, then," and pushes the box they'd brought up from the first floor across the table toward Ethan. 

Benji licks a stray bit of frosting off his top lip and Ethan feels his blood surge. Christ, he's getting turned on by a breakfast pastry and a tiny flash of tongue. It's been a while since he's gotten laid, but still. He tries to shake it off, get his mind on something else. "You're not worried about, uh, poison, and stuff?"

"No one knows we're here. I only wish we could stay over night."

"Sleepover at Ikea?"

"Something like that. We might have to get a hotel. Safer than going back to your place."

Ethan swallows his bite of cinnamon bun. He wonders if they'll get two rooms, or just one. With two beds, of course. He wishes he and Benji were just on an adventure together, maybe a road trip, and they could drive and drive and leave everyone and everything else behind. The stress of testifying against Smith is getting to him, but work has been a chore for a long time. This day with Benji, as weird as it has been, has been the best time he's had in…ever.

"So how did you get mixed up with Nathan Smith, notorious underworld figure?" Benji asks, pulling Ethan out of his thoughts.

He frowns. "It was an accident, really. One of Smith's seemingly legitimate businesses reached out to me about a deal. I did my due diligence before signing anything, of course. My people actually did too good a job—when they brought me the numbers, something didn't add up, so I kept digging. I discovered an entire network of hidden accounts, linking all of Smith's legitimate and illegitimate businesses."

"He left a paper trail?"

"Not exactly. It was all in the math, really. When I saw what I had, I consulted with my attorneys and we decided to take it to the feds. After that, it snowballed; they asked me to wear a wire when I met with the original guys who wanted to make a deal with me. I was terrified, even though we were meeting in my office in broad daylight. I got them to say a few incriminating things, but things got really out of hand when I met Nathan Smith himself a few days later at some charity function. He has informants everywhere. He had heard about the case they were building and my part in it, and he, well, he threatened me. It's not on tape, so that's why they need me to testify. Just the cherry on the top of the sundae."

"You're brave," Benji says.

"I'm not a hero. I just—I knew that I was in a position to help, and I couldn't not do it."

"Remarkable." Benji's voice is thoughtful. "And you figured it all out from some dodgy accounting?"

"I've always had a head for numbers. A long time ago I figured out that the difference between buying low and selling high didn't have to be dramatic to turn a profit. That's how I started my business back in college—buying used textbooks, selling them for a little bit more than I paid at the end of the semester. Nothing that impressive."

"And now you're a millionaire," Benji says matter of factly.

Ethan rubs the back of his neck. He hates that what he's about to say might make things awkward. Sometimes people get weird when they find out. "Er, billionaire, actually."

Does he imagine it, or does Benji pale slightly? "Oh. Right."

"I like what I do, or I used to, anyway. Lately, well, it hasn't been much fun."

"Lawyers can have that affect on people."

Ethan laughs. "I used to enjoy the thrill of making a deal and coming out ahead. Now it seems…I don't know. When the choices you make are really life and death, everything else seems dull by comparison."

"When the stakes are high, it does color your perception a bit. Makes things seem more intense, more dramatic."

"You must deal with that all the time." Is that what this attraction to Benji is about? The fact that they've been thrown together during such intense circumstances? Is what Ethan feeling for the cute Brit even real? Or is it just the adrenaline talking?

"It's funny, high stakes are sort of ordinary for me now. Makes everything seem the same. Me, I long for a little downtime. Getting shot at by hitmen shouldn't be run of the mill for anyone's life."

It sounds like Benji needs a vacation from his crazy life as much as Ethan does. Again, visions of them getting in a car and just driving until the road runs out flit through Ethan's head. Who cares if it's just the adrenaline? Ethan's learned over the years that you don't get many chances to be with someone who really lights you up. Benji lights him up. He can't not even try. Time for a fishing trip. "That lifestyle is probably pretty stressful for your…significant other, right?" 

Benji does that eyebrow lifting thing again. "Significant other? You jest. I don't have time for coffee, much less a relationship. The last bloke I dated dumped me when I had to bail on a Morrissey concert to take a job." 

The optimist in Ethan chooses to focus on the fact that Benji's single and has dated men, rather than on the resignedly bitter tone of his voice. "We're having coffee right now," he says, his voice pitched low.

"Yeah, but this is work," Benji says instantly.

_Oh._ That hurt more than Ethan thought it would. This is just a job to him. _Ethan's_ just a job to him. Whatever sparks Ethan imagined between them were just that—in Ethan's imagination. He sits back in his chair, pastes a fake smile on his face, and says, "Right. So, what else should we see while we're here?"

"Listen, Ethan—" Benji sounds like he's about to apologize or something and Ethan can't take the other man's gentle pity for the idiot client who fell for his bodyguard. How clichéd can you get?

"I don't need any living room furniture. But I don't know, maybe a desk chair?"

Benji sighs. "Yeah. Okay. Let's look at the desk chairs."

They stand up. Ethan tosses the half-full box of cinnamon buns in the trash as they walk past. He's lost his taste for them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress.

Benji checks his phone for the fourth time in under a minute. At this rate, he's going to be out of battery before teatime. He has a charger—he should find an outlet somewhere. 

He's only obsessively checking his phone to make sure he doesn't miss a communication from Jane. She's supposed to get back to him with intel and transportation, but she's been silent since morning. As he trails Ethan around Ikea, he almost wishes someone would take a shot at them. It would at least give him something to do, some way to be useful. Anything would be better than enduring the stoic expression on Ethan's face, pretending everything is fine, pretending to shop for furniture for a flat the two of them will never share.

He knows he upset Ethan back there, and he has no idea how to fix it. Only, he hadn't expected the beautiful _billionaire_ (and how Benji's mind trips over that word) to make an overture, no matter how tentative, in Benji's direction. Benji, who's prepared for everything, wasn't prepared for that.

He'd been caught unawares, which is unsettling in itself. He'd just been watching Ethan eat carbs and sugar, feeling the urge to feed him up, listening to him underplay his courage and his brilliance, wishing they were just hanging out as friends, or on a first date, instead of as client and contractor. Benji had been so, so aware, and so, so frustrated by their working relationship that he'd reacted out of that frustration. He wants things to be different, but they aren't.

They're back in the cafeteria, Benji charging his phone, Ethan quietly eating his plate of Swedish meatballs. Benji's struggling with what to say, with how to put his jumble of feelings into words, when the phone buzzes, finally.

Benji grabs it and reads Jane's texts, quickly assimilating the information and making his own plans.

"What is it? News?" Ethan asks.

"The team that attacked this morning is regrouping. They don't know our location, but they're bringing in reinforcements."

"What does that mean? Reinforcements?"

"They don't know where we are right now, but they know where you'll be tomorrow morning. You'll be on your way to the courthouse. All they have to do is wait, cover the entrances and exits, and you'll be walking into a trap."

"So what do we do?" Benji's bolstered by the fact Ethan still seems to have confidence in him, as a bodyguard at least.

"We hole up, get some rest. And in the morning, we'll be ready."

"Ready how?"

"You'll see. Jane dropped a car for us a mile away. Up for a walk?"

"Does that mean we get to leave this furniture purgatory?" Ethan asks hopefully.

"Affirmative."

"Thank god."

Benji hides his smile as they follow the maze to the exit. Maybe he's fucked things up with Ethan before they even began, but at least he gets to stay with him a little longer. He gets to do his job, a job he's pretty damn good at. If he does it right, Ethan will testify, get to go back to his real life, the company he built from scratch. And Benji will never see him again. 

The smile drops from his face.

***

The walk to the car feels strange. They're out and about in broad daylight. Ethan feels like he has a target on his back, but Benji walks confidently through the parking lot, down a side street, and Ethan follows.

"So once we have a car, where to?" Ethan asks Benji's back. The bodyguard has been very quiet since they left that monstrosity of a building. Ethan wonders if he's working out a plan for the next day. He hopes Benji has some good ideas, because Ethan can't figure out how they're going to get past a bunch of paid assassins. He knows the courthouse building. There are only two entrances, both on streets lined with tall buildings providing countless opportunities for snipers. Even Benji's fancy driving won't help him get from the car to the building itself.

"Shelter," Benji says. "We need shut eye. I need you rested for tomorrow."

"Okay."

They're on a suburban residential street when Benji comes to a stop in front of a nondescript beige sedan. "This is it."

"What is it with you and ugly cars?"

"Ugly cars blend in." Benji goes around to the driver's side, sticks his hand up under the wheel well and comes out with a key. He unlocks the car and they slide in. 

"What if you didn't have to blend in? What sort of a car would you drive?"

"1973 MGB convertible," Benji answers promptly as he stars the engine. "Blue."

"Why?"

"My dad had one. Learned to drive on it." They pull onto the road and Benji drives carefully. Ethan's driven with him enough by now that he recognizes Benji's apparently laid-back style is his way of not drawing attention to them, while at the same time he flicks his eyes from mirror to mirror, constantly surveilling their surroundings.

"What happened to it?"

"I wrapped it around a tree."

"Jesus. Were you okay?"

Benji doesn't answer the question, just says, "What about you? What did you learn to drive on?"

"My mom's truck. Farm boy, remember?"

"Still hard to picture."

"I probably have a picture somewhere. Me in overalls, milking a cow." Ethan's gratified when Benji can't stop his mouth from turning up in a smile.

"I would pay good money to see that."

They drive past the Ikea, and about a million other strip malls, until they reach the outskirts of the suburb. "How far are we going?"

"Just a little longer."

Ethan estimates that by now they're a two hour drive from the downtown courthouse he's due at tomorrow. They'll have to get up early in order to be on time. Suddenly, he's weary. The tension is getting to him, and the emotional strain of being so close to Benji, and to know he's so far out of his reach is getting too much to bear. He sighs, closes his eyes. The gentle motion of the car lulls him into a drowse.

Suddenly, the car stops, and Ethan's eyes fly open. "What is it?"

"It's okay. We're here."

Ethan looks out the window. They're in what looks like the woods. How long has he been asleep? "Where is here?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make your poshness sleep in the woods," Benji says lightly. "Come on."

Ethan gets out of the car and notices a small wooden cabin on the edge of the road. Benji pops the trunk and pulls out a suitcase. "What's that?"

"Change of clothes, toiletries, food. Jane prepped it for us."

"You weren't kidding about being full service," Ethan says.

"I'm the Jeeves of bodyguards," Benji says as they approach the cabin. 

"I hope that doesn't make me Bertie Wooster," Ethan says. His ego wouldn't be able to take it if he thought Benji viewed him as bumbling and ineffective as P.G. Wodehouse's comical aristocrat, saved over and over by his faithful servant, Jeeves.

Benji glances at him sharply, as if he wasn't expecting Ethan to get the reference, but he says nothing. He consults his phone briefly, then keys in a code on a keypad on the front door. It opens with a mechanical whir.

"Is this some kind of safehouse?" Ethan asks. The inside of the cabin is cozy, decorated with a kind of plushly rustic feel. He spots a small kitchen, a fireplace, and a door to a hallway.

"Sort of." Benji drops the bag on the floor, goes to check the windows in sequence. "It's an Airbnb."

"What, seriously?"

"Well, short notice. It's ideal though, because there's only the one approach. We'll be safe here."

Ethan, as ever, finds he has no trouble trusting Benji when he says that. He feels safe from bad guys when he's around Benji. He doesn't feel so safe with his heart, not since the brutal shutdown over the cinnamon buns.

"I'm going to secure the perimeter, then what do you say to an early dinner and early bed time? We're going to be up early tomorrow."

"No problem. As long your magical Jane also packed coffee."

"Never fear."

"I don't." Ethan is strangely calm. Yes, the last couple of days have worn him out, but he's not afraid. Whatever happens, happens. Benji will take care of him, whether it's by evading hit men or making him dinner.

He keeps that air of calm with him as he walks through the door to the hallway and realizes it's not a hallway at all. It's a bedroom. With a bed. Singular. And a master bathroom attached. That's the sum of the cabin.

He cautiously backs out of the room as if the bed is a snarling tiger. He's back in the main living space which he notes has nothing resembling a couch, just a couple of arm chairs and a coffee table. Neither of them would be comfortable sleeping in them. He supposes the floor is an option. But with such a big day ahead of them tomorrow, it seems stupid to spend the night tossing and turning on a hard floor.

"Um, Benji?" 

Benji's rattling the latch on the window above the sink. "Yes, Ethan?"

"There's only one bedroom."

"What, really?" Benji sounds legitimately surprised. Ethan motions toward the doorway. Benji pops his head in, then back out. "So there is. That's weird. I could have sworn Jane told me this place slept four."

"Maybe there's a cot somewhere?" Ethan feels slightly guilty with how much he hopes there's nothing resembling a cot in any of the closets.

"Maybe." Benji continues to check the windows and locks and doesn't seem overly concerned by the sleeping arrangements.

Fine. Ethan doesn't care. He can spend the night in the same bed as Benji. They're grownups and the bed is large. No big deal. But as the hours pass, and no cots are found, and Benji whips up omelets and they eat them in front of a warming fire that Ethan started with some long-buried boy scout knowledge, Ethan's not sure he can do this. He's not sure he can spend the night within arm's distance of Benji and not break down and beg for the other man to touch him. He's not sure he can survive the humiliation of being turned down. And he's not sure that even if he survives getting to the courthouse tomorrow, that he'll survive having to say goodbye to Benji forever afterward.

He washes their few dishes in silence as Benji types on his phone, muttering about lines of sight and smoke screens and decoys. He wipes his hands dry on a dish towel and leans against the kitchen counter, just watching Benji work. He remembers how surprised he was that this man-child was taking on the job of keeping him alive. He didn't know Benji existed two days ago. Now he can't imagine never seeing Benji's face again, his wicked smile, his unknowable eye color, his clever hands that can fly over a phone's keyboard or coax magic out of a stick shift. 

"Benji?"

"Hmmm?" Benji doesn't look up.

"If things don't go well tomorrow, there's something I want you to know."

At that Benji does look up. He puts down his phone. "What are you talking about? Everything is going to be fine tomorrow. I've almost got our route worked out, and I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Don't worry."

Ethan walks over until he's next to Benji's chair, and drops down to his knees so he's at eye level with the bodyguard. "I know. I trust you. But, well, we don't know what's going to happen. We can't know. So I just, I'll feel better if you know—"

Benji waits for a beat for Ethan to finish the sentence, then says, "What, what do you want me to know?"

In answer, Ethan darts forward and plants a kiss on Benji's slightly open mouth. He holds it for one, two, three seconds, memorizing the feel of Benji's lips, and then breaks the kiss.

Benji looks frozen in shock, but then he clears his throat noisily. "Ethan, er, I—you're. Um."

Ethan feels the disappointment in every cell of his body, drops his gaze to the floor. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know. Just in case."

"Ethan, listen to me. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let it."

Ethan nods without making eye contact.

"Don't you see, Ethan? I can't let anything happen to you, because—"

"Because?" Ethan can't help the sliver of hope from showing up in his voice.

"Because I care about you, Ethan." Benji's almost whispering, but Ethan hears the words. They go straight to his chest, make his heart beat double time.

He looks up. Benji's looking at him, his face a mask of anguish. "You do?"

"But it's complicated—we're working together, Ethan."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right. I just—it feels like, considering everything, that doesn't matter that much. And I say that as someone who has never once made a pass at someone I worked with before. Ever."

"Really?"

"Really. You're the first. The only. You're…god, Benji, you said you care about me. Well, I care about you, too. I want to show you how much. And if tomorrow everything goes to hell—despite your best efforts—I don't want to die not knowing what it feels like to be with you."

Ethan can see Benji's jaw tense, see his adam's apple bob as he swallows. "If you were anybody else, Ethan, that would sound like a terrible come-on."

"I'm not anybody else. And I mean it."

"Christ, I know you do." Benji seems to struggle internally for a minute. Ethan holds his breath, wondering what the verdict is going to be, telling himself if Benji rejects him, he'll deal with it, somehow.

"Come to bed, Benji?" Ethan rises, holds out a hand. He wants Benji to take it more than anything.

Benji stares at the outstretched hand for a long moment. Then he places his hand in Ethan's, stands up. "Okay," he whispers. "But do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Fire me."

"Excuse me?"

"Fire me. You can rehire me in the morning. But tonight, I don't want to be your bodyguard. I want to be—yours. Just yours."

"Understood." Ethan's entire body is aching to take Benji into his arms and kiss him senseless, but he has to take care of business first. "Benji, you're fired."

"Fantastic," Benji murmurs. Benji beats him to the punch, wrapping his arms around Ethan and kissing him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan and Benji share more than a bed.

The bed is soft and Ethan's warm and Benji ignores all his trepidation about crossing this line because…well, because he's never felt like this about anyone else he's ever met. Sure, Ethan's empirically desirable, with his handsome jawline, his fancy threads, his bank account. But that's not why Benji likes him.

Benji likes him because he's brave, even when he's scared. Because he might be a billionaire, but Benji is certain Ethan knows what it feels like to be alone, and lonely. Because he's kind and smart, and he does the right thing. Ethan's got backbone, but he's not afraid to ask for help. He's attractive, but he's not immune to feeling rejection, even from a scruffy, smartass bodyguard.

He wouldn't have come anywhere near him if he thought Ethan was just using him. Ethan wouldn't do that. And even though the thought of losing Ethan tomorrow is too terrifying to contemplate, Benji has to agree—he doesn't want to die not knowing what it feels like to be with the most tempting, most interesting, most caring man he's ever met.

They kiss forever, and then they take their clothes off and kiss some more. And when Ethan touches Benji's cock for the first time, it feels so good Benji thinks he might pass out. He holds it together, wrapping his own fist around Ethan's hard, perfectly formed cock, thumbing the slit and rubbing the precum around Ethan's shaft.

Ethan's moans rumble against Benji's chest and he squeezes his eyes shut. How lucky is he to be here, with this man in his arms? What did he do to deserve this man in his bed? And what are the odds that he'll be able to hold on to him?

Benji pushes the thought away, determined to stay in the moment. He can't worry about the future. The only thing that exists right now is Ethan, his beautiful mouth, his feather-soft hair, his body, which fits Benji in all the right ways. Though Benji's been calling the shots for the last two days, Ethan seems to be driving now. Benji surrenders, letting Ethan take him apart, letting him kiss a trail over Benji's abs, letting him engulf his cock in tight, wet heat. Ethan takes Benji's hands and places them in his hair, and Benji takes the hint, tugging on his hair, pushing him farther over the length of his cock, until Ethan almost chokes on it, and Benji almost comes on the spot with how hot it is.

"Wait, wait, Ethan," he manages to say, before he actually blows his load down Ethan's throat. Ethan pulls off, his expression a question. Benji sits up, takes a moment to just stare. Ethan's mouth is red, his cheeks flushes, his hair a mess. He looks like sex incarnate. He's the most beautiful thing Benji has ever seen.

"What is it?" Ethan asks, his voice tight. 

"I just—god, look at you." Benji gets closer, cups Ethan's face in his hands, kisses him because he can't not kiss him right now. Ethan sags into the kiss, pressing them even closer together, and Benji can feel how hard Ethan is, how turned on he is by sucking Benji's cock and Benji doesn't know how he's going to last longer than fifteen more seconds at this rate.

"Benji, I need to make you come. Please, please let me?" Ethan says. "You taste so good."

Benji groans, and flops back down on the bed. "Well, if you must."

"Oh, I must," Ethan mutters, and then goes back down, working Benji's cock back into his mouth, building up a rhythm that has Benji shouting as he feels his orgasm building, barreling toward him like an out of control train, flattened by it as it roars through him, as he pumps his come in Ethan's mouth.

"Jesus fucking christ," Benji says. "You—fuck, that was good, Ethan."

Ethan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins. "Good?"

"Great. Spectacular. Stupendous. Amazing."

"That's more like it."

"Now come here, you gorgeous creature," Benji hoists himself upright. Ethan scoots up the bed, straddles Benji's waist. Kisses him again. Benji's never kissed a partner this much during sex, but he likes it. Maybe he likes it because Ethan's a brilliant kisser. Or because it's Ethan, full stop. Ethan might be the one who's got a hit out on him, but Benji feels like the one who's going to get hurt at the end of this, because there's no way that Ethan's fallen as fast and hard and deep as Benji has.

"Hey, what is it?" Ethan asks.

"Huh?"

"You look sad all of a sudden."

"No, I'm fine," Benji forces a smile onto his face. "Thinking about how I'm going to top that."

"Just being with you is the best thing I've felt in a long time," Ethan whispers.

Benji's heart turns in his chest. Ethan might not have felt like this in a long time, but Benji's pretty sure he's never felt this way ever before. He can't tell Ethan, though, without it getting weird. It's impossible to fall in love with someone in two days. Isn't it?

He kisses Ethan, soft and long, as he slowly strokes Ethan's cock. He draws it out, making it last, making it as good as he can, until Ethan's gripping Benji's shoulders so hard it feel like they'll leave a mark. Then Ethan's groaning into their kisses, spilling into Benji's hand, onto Benji's stomach. And as he pulls back and Benji catches sight of the post-orgasmic blissed-out look on Ethan's face he knows for sure. He's done the impossible and fallen in love.

***

Ethan wakes up disoriented at first, and then remembers where he is: in a cabin in the woods, sharing a bed with his bodyguard. Only Benji's not his bodyguard tonight. He's…Ethan softly trails his fingers over Benji's bare shoulder as the other man sleeps beside him. He's _Ethan's_. That's what he said, right? Ethan wants to believe so badly that he meant it, that he can be Ethan's now, and always. But he's afraid that for Benji, this is only about tonight, and that tomorrow, when this is all over, Benji will be over Ethan, too.

Ethan inches closer, presses a close-mouthed kiss to Benji's shoulder. God, being with Benji was even more incredible that Ethan had imagined. They fit together hand-in-glove, somehow sensing what the other liked, what made the other hot, what made them groan with pleasure. Ethan had never kissed as much during sex as he had with Benji, but it just seemed natural. Benji's kisses are like a drug, and Ethan can't go for long without getting a hit.

They'd made each other come twice before passing out in the big bed, but not before Benji had set an early alarm. Ethan squints at the numbers on his phone. The alarm will go off in a few minutes. Then everything will change. Benji won't be Ethan's lover, he'll be the man in charge of keeping him alive. Ethan trusts Benji's instincts, his planning, his skills. He trusts that Benji will do whatever it takes to keep Ethan safe. But Ethan suddenly worries, what if Benji's in just as much danger as Ethan. If there are snipers aiming at the courthouse entrances, who's to say that someone else won't get caught in the crossfire? Who's to say Benji won't do something dumb and put himself in harm's way to save Ethan?

Ethan can't live with himself if Benji gets hurt. He doesn't want to live without Benji, period. One night with Benji beneath him, on top of him, beside him, and Ethan knows he'll always feel like something's missing if Benji's not there.

Is this what love is? Ethan had all but given up on falling in love. He's nearing forty—he thought maybe it was never going to happen for him. And then one unexpectedly sexy, unexpectedly smart, unexpectedly courageous man comes into his life and turns it upside down. 

Ethan watches Benji sleep a little longer, and by the time the alarm dings and Benji stirs awake, Ethan's sure. If it comes down to Benji's life or his own today, Ethan won't hesitate. He'll die for Benji in a heartbeat. Because apparently that's the only way Ethan Hunt knows how to be in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Absolutely the last time I up the chapter count, I promise! (probably).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The billionaire and the bodyguard face their final test.

After showers (separate) and dressing and drinking their coffee greedily, they pack up and shut the cabin door behind them. Ethan's sad to leave their little rural oasis. His stomach aches with nerves and the physical strain of holding back from kissing Benji.

Benji drives, of course, and he explains the plan to Ethan as they drive back toward the city, the dawn pink and yellow like an Easter egg.

Benji's plan is simple, and sound, and Ethan marvels at how amazing he is all over again.

"So I'll get to meet the mysterious Jane," Ethan says as they get steadily closer, Benji's driving as rock solid as ever. _How is he not nervous?_ Ethan trusts Benji implicitly, but he's still fucking nervous. A dozen things could go wrong and one, or both, of them could pay the price.

"She's been dying to meet you, I'll have you know."

"How did you start working with her?" Ethan asks.

"Remember when I told you I thought about joining MI-5, but one of the test proctors said I could use my skills better elsewhere? That was Jane. We set up shop together. Sometimes she's the lead, sometimes I am. We back each other up. I trust her with my life. And yours."

"Then I guess I trust her, too."

As the miles slip by and they go over the plan again and again, Ethan wonders if there's going to be a good time to have "the talk" with Benji. He sighs. There's not going to be a good time. He's just going to have to hope they have a chance when the dust clears. If he tells Benji he's in love with him now, then it will be awkward because Benji will think he's a lunatic for falling so quickly, and his focus will be off, and that could put both of them in danger. Better not say anything. His sighs again.

"It's going to be okay, Ethan," Benji says. "I'm getting you to the trial in one piece. And once your information is public, you'll be safe."

"What? Oh. Yeah. Thanks." Ethan's almost forgotten he actually has to testify against a major crime boss today. He's prepared ad nauseam for this day, so he's not nervous about being on the witness stand. No, he's nervous because he's never told anyone he's in love with them before.

"You clear on what we're going to do?" Benji asks as the skyline of the city comes into view.

"Yes. I'm ready." Ethan takes a deep breath. "Benji—I just want to say—"

Benji's phone rings and Ethan breaks off. Benji answers, and Jane's voice fills the car. "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm at the rendezvous. I have remote eyes on six hostiles at the courthouse. But the plan is still a go."

"Copy that. We're five minutes out." Benji punches a button to end the call.

"Six hostiles? That sounds like a lot." Ethan wonders about their odds.

"It could be a hundred. They're all going to be looking in the wrong place."

Five minutes later, they pull into a parking garage on the edge of the city and park next to a white panel van. The van door slides open as they exit the car, revealing a slim, black-haired woman and a bank of computers inside. Ethan recognizes the courthouse on one of the monitors.

"You must be Jane," Ethan says, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunt," Jane says, eyes smiling.

"The pleasure is mine," he says, truthfully. 

She smiles wider. "Benji's told me a lot about you."

Ethan glances at Benji, who evades his gaze and says, "Come on, we have work to do."

***

"How do I look?" Ethan asks, his voice muffled.

"Like a middle-aged balding criminal," Jane says, adjusting Ethan's shoulder pads to mimic Nathan Smith's posture more closely.

"Great!" Ethan says enthusiastically. "Where did you get this mask, anyway?"

"Oh, we've got some friends in low places," Benji says. He can't tell Ethan the favors he had to call in from his buddy in the IMF to arrange for the mask of Nathan Smith's face. Luther owed him from the time in the place with the thing, but it had still been a big ask.

It was worth it, looking at Ethan now. He looks nothing like himself, which is exactly the point. Benji switches into his own costume—the black suit, white shirt, and mirrored sunglasses of a slightly flashy town car driver. The play involves driving up, bold as brass, and walking in as if Ethan, or rather, Smith, owns the place. Jane will be covering them with her own weapon, in case it should come to that, she can cause a distraction or pick off some of the enemy from her vantage point. Benji would be armed, too, but he doesn't want to have to leave Ethan's side to return fire. No, either the ruse works, or a sniper will fire and they can only hope he misses.

"All right," Benji says when they're all prepped. "Places, everyone." Jane takes off first, after giving them both encouraging nods. She leans close to Benji on her way past him, whispers, "I like him." Then she's gone in a squeal of tires.

_I like him too._ Benji can't think about that right now. He and Ethan abandon the ugly beige vehicle and transfer to a black town car. Ethan moves to get in the passenger seat, but Benji stops him.

"You've got to ride in the back," he reminds him.

"Oh yeah. Okay. Benji—" Benji can tell Ethan's been trying to work his way up to saying something all morning, but he needs to focus. He won't be able to deal with it if Ethan gives him the brush-off. There will be time enough for that later.

"Hurry now, Ethan. The curtain's going up."

"Okay." Ethan gets in and Benji starts up the car. He's got to have his A game today. The fact that he's in love with the man he's been charged to protect doesn't matter. He'd protect him no matter what. It doesn't change anything.

Benji puts his foot down on the gas. Only he knows in his heart of hearts, it changes everything.

***

There's plenty of traffic surrounding the courthouse, as reporters crowd the steps, and office workers stream in for their workdays. The Smith trial starts today. Ethan is the first, and star, witness. They're early, but that doesn't seem to bother Benji. He slides through the traffic, even an expert at driving at super slow speeds, and comes to a stop in a procession of cars disgorging various members of the proceedings. "All right, Ethan. I'm parking the car, and will walk you in. Once you're through the door, there's a metal detector. We'll go through, and the security will be very tight in the courtroom. Even so, I'll stick to you like glue until after this thing is over."

"Thanks, Benji."

"Of course, Ethan. It's my job."

"Right." Ethan knows he shouldn't read into that, but it's hard. There's no time to dwell, because Benji's come around and opened his door. It's showtime. Ethan tries to convey the same swagger as Nathan Smith, use his same body language from the night he met him at the fundraiser. It's only twenty yards from the car to the building, but it feels like two hundred. They walk, Benji a step behind but close, as reporters jockey for position and yell over each other. Ethan can't make out individual words over the din. It feels like walking through sand, his steps sluggish, his breathing labored through the thick plastic of the mask.

"Almost there," Benji says, loud enough for Ethan to hear, but no louder.

It's true, the door is in sight. Ethan forces himself to keep going, feeling at once hidden and exposed, when at last they reach the entrance. He steps through first, Benji behind, and all eyes in the lobby turn toward them. Ethan can't help the flourish he adds as he peels off his Smith mask and jaws drop. "Ethan Hunt, reporting for the Nathan Smith trial."

***

So far so good, but Benji still doesn't lower his guard as Ethan, sans mask, is ushered into the packed courtroom. There are two empty seats near the front, and their handler indicates they're to sit there. Benji doesn't like their position. It's too open. They made it through the gauntlet of snipers, confusing them at least long enough to get inside. But now Ethan's not hiding. If someone smuggled a weapon through the layers of security and metal detectors, he could still be at risk.

Benji eyes everyone suspiciously, especially the real Nathan Smith, who arrives shortly after them, glaring at Ethan with murder in his eyes. He only half listens to the judge's preamble and the lawyers' statements. He keeps a sharp lookout on anyone who moves toward a jacket pocket or into a briefcase. He's aware of Ethan seated so close he can feels his body heat. He wants to touch him so badly, if only a reassuring pat on the hand, but he can't let himself.

The statements are winding down when it happens. A young, sweaty man two rows behind them suddenly stands up, launches himself over the row of people in between, onto Ethan. Only Benji's there first, taking the brunt of the man's weight, having pushed Ethan toward the aisle and away from the man's plastic shiv. Benji, enraged and high on adrenaline, practically lifts the man over his head in order to slam him back down across the hard seat backs, breaking his hold on the shiv and sending it flying. With one hand, Benji coshes the attacker in the face. The man goes limp. Benji distantly registers cries and the panic of bystanders trying to get away. He turns to check on Ethan, who's back on his feet, holding the shiv tightly. 

"Are you all right?" he asks Ethan. Ethan doesn't answer, just looks between the shiv and Benji and back again. "Ethan, dammit, are you okay?"

"You're bleeding, god, Benji. Call an ambulance!" Ethan roars, and then he hands the shiv to a courtroom guard who's finally reached them. Benji's brow creases in puzzlement.

"Bleeding? I'm not—" and that's when he feels it. The ache in his side he hadn't noticed in his single minded focus of removing the threat. Still, he has to know: "You're okay, Ethan?"

"I'm fine. You're hurt. God, Benji. Where's that ambulance?" Ethan looks around, almost frantic.

Suddenly, paramedics arrive and swarm around them. Benji loses sight of Ethan, which makes him immediately anxious. "Ethan! Ethan!"

"Let me through, dammit." Ethan elbows his way past a paramedic who's taking Benji's vitals. "I'm here, Benji."

"I just—I don't like not knowing where you are."

"I'll stay with you," Ethan says. And then Benji feels a wave of dizziness and everything goes black.

***

"He's awake. You can go in." The doctor in charge of Benji's care smiles at him encouragingly, then heads off down the hallway, giving them some privacy.

Ethan steels himself for what's about to happen, and walks into the private hospital room. He'd given a bunch of money to the hospital a few years ago and for once he'd used his clout to get the best room, the best doctors, the best security that money could buy. Benji had been out all through the terrifying ride to the hospital while Ethan knelt by his side in the ambulance, trying to stay out of the way as the paramedics did their job, stabilizing him, triaging the wound.

Once at the hospital, Benji was rushed into surgery and is only now coming out of the anesthetic. He looks gray against the white hospital pillow. Ethan edges close to the edge of the bed and Benji tracks him with his eyes.

"Hey, Benji," Ethan says gently. "Did the doctor tell you what happened?"

"More or less. The weapon missed the important bits, I gather, but they had to repair some internal bleeding."

"And you're going to make a full recovery," Ethan says firmly.

Benji smiles faintly. "Thanks to you. The doctor said something about you insisting on all the best care."

"Of course I did. Benji, I have to tell you something—"

"What happening with the trial?"

"What—oh. I forgot you didn't know yet. It turns out that the kid with the shiv—he's been arrested, by the way—was Smith's hail mary attempt to silence me, since his other efforts failed. When he saw that I was still going to be able to testify, he decided to cut a deal. No more trial. No more testifying. I'm off the hook, Smith goes to jail, and the police get enough data from Smith's businesses to keep them following money trails for years."

"That's really good news, Ethan. I'm glad. I was worried."

"You were?"

"It's never good to be on the bad side of men like Smith."

"Too true. In fact, since the prosecutors don't need me anymore, I decided it would probably be a good idea to take a vacation, somewhere far away, just in case Smith changes his mind and tries to get some kind of retribution."

"That's probably wise," Benji says, smiling thinly. "Any idea where you might go?"

"Haven't gotten that far yet. I was thinking maybe you'd have some ideas."

"Me? Why would I?"

Here it is. The moment of truth. "I thought maybe you'd be able to come along."

Benji's face clouds with confusion. "Why? You want a bodyguard just in case? But you're not in danger anymore."

Ethan sucks in a breath, tells himself he can get through this. "Benji, I've been in danger of falling in love with you since I met you. And I'm afraid I have to tell you that's just what I did. I'm in love with you and I don't want you to be my bodyguard. I want you to be my—well, my everything. My heart. My life."

Benji doesn't say anything. Ethan won't give up hope yet. "You said you cared about me. Well, that's a start. I know it's too fast, and you think I'm crazy, but I really think if you give us a chance—"

"I love you, too." Benji face has regained some of its color, and his eyes are twinkly. 

Ethan blinks. "You—do?"

"Yep." Suddenly, Ethan's face feels like it's going to crack with how widely he's smiling, and Benji tries to sit up, despite his injury, setting off a series of ominous beeps. 

Two nurses rush into the room and scold Ethan. "Your fiancé needs to rest, Mr. Hunt. You'll have to come back later."

Benji's eyes widen. "Fiancé?"

"Er, I told them we were engaged so they'd let me stay with you in the ambulance. Sorry."

"It's okay. I've never been engaged to a billionaire before. Seems to me I should have a bit of jewelry to show for it." Benji waggles his eyebrows and Ethan laughs.

"Tell you what, as soon as you get discharged, I'll pick you up and bring you a present."

"Sounds good to me."

***

Two endless days later, during which Benji only wants to spend time kissing Ethan and planning their epic holiday but has to spend an inordinate number of hours getting checked on by doctors and nurses and answering police questions about his attack, Benji is finally free to go.

He's wheeled downstairs by his favorite nurse, Charlene, who clucks over his "young man."

"I hope you have a lovely wedding," Charlene says.

"Er, yes, thanks," Benji says. He and Ethan had opted not to correct the record on their engagement status, feeling it would make things easier for Ethan when he came to visit. But still, it feels weird to pretend. He and Ethan love each other, but there's nothing that says that marriage has to be in the offing.

"Here we are," Charlene says, depositing Benji at the pickup circle in front of the hospital.

Benji scans the circle for Ethan, but doesn't see him. Then he hears the rumble of an engine that precedes a bright blue convertible roadster with the top down. Ethan's behind the wheel, grinning madly. He parks and gets out, helping Benji from his wheelchair to the car.

"Ethan, darling, this wouldn't happen to be a 1973 MGB, would it?" Benji says as he settles into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and takes him back to when he was sixteen, horny as hell, before he learned to drive properly. All things considered, he likes where he's ended up.

"It's your engagement present. Like it?" Ethan slides behind the wheel, giving him a wicked smile.

"My engagement—you're not serious."

"As a heart attack. Now give me a kiss, husband-to-be. We've got to hit the road. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Benji's too flabbergasted to protest as Ethan gives him an open-mouthed kiss with plenty of tongue that has him adjusting his jeans surreptitiously.

"Then let's get going," Benji says as he wonders, _how is this my life?_

Ethan peels out, foot to the floor, as he expertly weaves around the rush hour traffic, heading west.

"Ethan Matthew Hunt. I didn't know you could drive like this," Benji says, stunned and aroused simultaneously.

Ethan glances over, winks. "Does it turn you on?"

"Hell yes. Baby, you can drive my car anytime." 

And the billionaire and the bodyguard drive into the sunset, heading towards their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thanks for following along with this AU -- I hope you enjoyed reading about these pining idiots as much as I enjoyed writing about them.


End file.
